


Leave the Lights On

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8580013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: "Okay?" Geno asked groggily. Sid snapped out of it. Cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. He inched away, tucking his hands under his thighs. He wouldn't have- Geno didn't deserve to be hurt. Sid would never- "Your head?""Yeah," Sid choked out. Geno leaned forward and soothed a big hand over Sid's hair, his lips twisting at the corners. His eyes were painkiller bright, glazed over enough that they looked like marbles. He left his hand on Sid's head as his eyes slid shut. Sid sat still as Geno dozed and counted his breaths.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: This centers on a main character dealing with mental illness. There are intrusive thoughts that are often violent towards himself or others that are not acted on but are mentioned, magical thinking linked to compulsions, and bad handling of these symptoms. I researched to the best of my ability, but I do not have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. If anything I've written is wildly off base or offensive to those with it, _let me know_ so I can fix it.
> 
> A beautiful mix by DistortedDaytime can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/distorteddaytime/leave-the-lights-on). It's absolutely wonderful. Go give it a listen.

Sid's head hurt. He wanted to laugh, but he when he opened his mouth nothing came out. His head always hurt. He'd learned to block out pain when he was a kid, learned to turn aches into fuel to make him work harder. But this- this wasn't something he could use as fuel. Fuck, even if he could, there was nothing to burn that energy on. He ate when his stomach wasn't upset, he slept, he went to the endless doctor's appointments. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

Sometimes, he forced himself through his allotted hour of television. Everything blurred and his temples throbbed at the end of it, his brain crushing in on itself, but it was something he was allowed to do. There wasn't a lot he was allowed to do these days. 

The kids came up to see him every once in awhile, their faces drawn and their voices hushed. They were almost like strangers. Sid missed them, missed their real voices and their full body hugs and their boundless energy that usually left him breathless. He was a ghost and they were the mediums, calling to him so quietly it was like they weren't even there at all. It was almost easy to forget he was still alive; the pain was good for that at least. 

"One," Sid said into the empty living room. The blackout curtains left the whole apartment nearly pitch black. His eyes had gotten used to the dark eventually. He imagined he looked drugged, all wide pupils and sweaty, greasy hair and scraggly beard. His hands shook too much to shave. "Two."

All his life, he'd heard his voice played back on radio and TV and ancient VHS tapes that were so worn the video was mostly scratched out. No matter how many times he heard himself speaking, it didn't sound right. On radio, his voice was too nasal. On TV, his accent sounded thick and slow like frozen honey being forced from a jar. He'd read before about the vibrations inside the skull changing the timbre of sound. He wondered if the crushed bits of his head was what made him sound different now, or if it was just the dark warping everything. 

"Three," he said. His voice didn't sound like his own, but what did he know? All he had was recordings to go off of and those lied as much as anything else. "Four."

He counted until the ache in his head made him lose his place and then he started again. 

"One," he said, pushing himself up off the couch. "Two." A short walk to the bathroom, his hips bumping into furniture that hadn't been moved since he'd started living there. His spatial reasoning was shot. "Three." Two white pills in the cup of his palm. "Four." The taste of them was like acid on his tongue, chalky residue coating the insides of his cheeks and his teeth, but he swallowed them down dry anyway. "Five."

He made his way to his bedroom, one hand on the wall. Everything looked blue, blurry. He counted his steps and when there weren't enough he paced from one wall to the other until there were. The painkillers were kicking in, his arms and legs and head heavy, but he needed to just go a little more, needed to get the right number-

He hit four hundred sixteen steps on the wrong side of the room. 

Sid closed his eyes and shook his head. Nausea made him stumble, his empty stomach fighting against the pills and his brain fighting against his everything. He opened his eyes again and took a step. 

"One."

\---

"How're you feeling?" Dr. Keller asked. He always asked that first, like maybe Sid would be able to tell him something different and save them both a lot of time and effort. Sid shrugged and pushed his sunglasses up. There were divots on the sides of his nose from them rubbing against his skin, but if he wanted to leave the apartment without sharp, lightning-hot pain in his skull, he needed to wear them. 

"The same," Sid said, just like he had for the past three weeks. He thought about lying, about saying that he felt better, but one bright light to the eyes and he'd be on the ground screaming. It wasn't worth it to lie. 

Dr. Keller poked and prodded him and asked the same questions he always did. Sid answered them almost by memory. In the range of brain damage, he wished he'd have gotten amnesia instead. It would have been kinder. He wouldn't know a damn thing, wouldn't know a single person, but he would be able to read, be able to keep his mind occupied, would be able to leave the fucking house. His family and his friends might have been sad about it, but he wouldn't have known enough to care. 

At the end of the appointment, Dr. Keller told him to keep up the good recovery work, like Sid had been doing anything other than sitting in the dark and taking the myriad of pills given to him. Sid nodded and gathered up his coat, booked his appointment for the next week. 

He took the back exit to the parking garage and texted Mario to pick him up. For the first time in a long while, he felt like a child. Mario wasn't his father. It wasn't his responsibility to take care of Sid, no matter how many times he claimed he did it as a concerned friend. Sometimes, Sid wondered if Mario still thought of him as the wide-eyed kid that had climbed onto the stage for his jersey instead of as the man he'd grown into. 

A car shot past him towards the exit of the garage, whipping around the corner so tight to the parked cars it looked like it would crash. Sid took a step forward and thought, _I could just stand in front of the next one. It would be so easy._.

He jerked back and rubbed the heel of his palm over his forehead. He stayed by the door of the elevators until Mario's SUV pulled in front of him, counting quietly to himself. 

\---

When Geno went down, Sid laughed himself hoarse. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, fat drops rolling down his cheeks until he was full out sobbing. The noise from the radio kept going, a play-by-play of Geno being taken from the ice the soundtrack to Sid's crying jag. It hurt his head because everything hurt his head, but he couldn't stop. 

"One," he choked out. His lungs ached, his snotty nose and gasping mouth unable to draw in enough air. "Two." He scrambled for the numbers, his head swimming. "Three." Focusing on them made it easier. If he got to seventy-one, he'd stop crying like a child. If he got to eighty-seven, Geno would be fine. He'd be okay. 

Sid went to one hundred fifty-eight just to be safe. It didn't help. 

\---

Geno was out for the rest of the season. Sid lied to Dr. Keller, in case it maybe would make a difference, and they cleared him for the lightest possible workouts under supervision. It felt like it should be a good thing, that it should feel like taking the right step forward instead of hanging in limbo. Limbo, he'd read once, was just another name for Hell. 

Chris came to Sid's place. He talked with Mario for a while, ignoring Sid's jittery hands and legs. His clothes felt too big and he wanted to stitch them closer to his body, but he didn't know where Nathalie kept the sewing kit and even if he found it, he'd never even threaded a needle before. Instead, he tugged at the loose threads of his t-shirt and waited. 

Chris took him down to the gym. Sid's hands shook as he sat on the bike, but he wiped them down on his shorts and listened to his instructions. If he got this down, he could move on to something else. He pedaled slowly, hands locked tight around the plastic handle grips, and breathed in through his nose. It was fine. He was doing fine. 

He did fine through the bike, did fine through the carefully spotted bench presses and squats. Sometimes his head swam, his vision blanking out for split seconds, but that was what Chris' hands were there for. If he fell, Chris would catch him, or at least stop the weights from falling on him. 

He laid out on the green yoga mat when Chris told him to. It wasn't thick enough to block out the feel of the floor under his back, but the pressure felt good as he pushed into it. Chris held his feet, his hands anchoring him to the ground. Sid took a deep breath in, engaged his core, and lifted-

The room was dark. Something cold and damp was on the back of his neck and all he could smell was the acrid tang of vomit. Two voices whispered back and forth, but they sounded so far away, muffled like they were underwater. Sid rolled onto his side and nearly toppled off the edge of the bed. It wasn't his room. 

Eventually the voices came closer. Sid recognized Mario's soft vowels and Chris' more urgent tone. He thought about pretending to be asleep, but lying had got him here in the first place. Instead he closed his eyes against the streak of light that filtered in when someone opened the door and opened them again when the mattress shifted. 

"Oh, Kid," Mario said softly. He stroked a gentle hand over Sid's head, his fingertips resting in the hollow behind Sid's ear. Sid closed his eyes again and moved just enough to lay his head on Mario's solid thigh. Mario didn't say anything else, just stroked Sid's hair and adjusted the washcloth on Sid's neck. 

Dr. Keller removed his workout privileges. Sid went back to his dark room and silence. 

\---

"How would you feel about staying with Geno while he recovers?" Mario asked over dinner. The kids were all out at their own things and the table felt somber without them. Sid poked at the fish on his plate, peeling layers away and putting them into piles. He wasn't hungry, but Nathalie had cooked and it would be rude to refuse to eat at all. "The surgery went well, but he's going to need some help for a few weeks."

"Stick the cripples together for solidarity?" Sid asked. He winced as soon as it was out of his mouth but it was too late to take it back. Mario set his fork down, the tines scraping against his plate. 

"You don't have to," he said quietly. He waited until Sid looked up at him. His face was kind, his eyes soft and fond. Sid wanted to hit him, wanted to push his fist into the slope of Mario's nose until it cracked under his knuckles. "But it might be good for you, too."

 _Get out,_ Sid heard. _We're tired of taking care of you._ It had to happen sometime. 

"Okay," Sid said. He went back to piling up his food. He'd have to learn the right number of steps to take in Geno's house. He'd gotten used to the ones here. 

Mario took him and a bag of his things to Geno's in the morning. Sid sat in the passenger seat of the SUV quietly, sunglasses on and hands folded in his lap. Neither of them could drive. They'd be stuck in the house unless they called someone to get them. Not that he could go anywhere anyway. Not really. Not for long. 

Mario walked Sid to the door and pulled a set of keys from the mailbox. A warrior helmet keychain hung from the ring, the paint worn thin around the corners. Sid followed him in and felt like he was being put into a box. Here was his cage, gilded but just as stifling. 

"Call us anytime," Mario said as he set Sid's duffle bag down in the front hall. He sat his hands on Sid's shoulders, smiling a little. "I mean it, Sid. If either of you need anything, we're just a few miles away." Sid nodded and let Mario hug him. They both knew he wouldn't. 

Sid listened for the door and toed his shoes off as soon as it closed. He picked up his bag and headed towards the living room. Geno lay sprawled on the couch, bad leg propped up on the coffee table. Someone had brought him a flat of water and it sat beside the couch unopened. Geno turned his head slowly, unfocused eyes landing on Sid. 

"Hi," he said weakly. His voice was hoarse, dry. Sid tore a hole into the packaging around the water bottles and pulled one out, handing it over. 

"Hey," he said. Geno stared at the water bottle until Sid took the cap off. "Drink that." Sid waited until Geno lifted the bottle to his mouth before going up the stairs to the guest rooms. He counted the steps from the couch to the bed, but the number wasn't right. He walked around the sterile, clean smelling room until he found something that worked. It wasn't the same as home, but nothing ever was. 

When he got back downstairs, Geno had grabbed the crutches from where they'd rested against the armchair and was hobbling awkwardly towards the kitchen. Sid hurried to intercept him, one hand locking around Geno's arm. Geno swayed and Sid braced him. 

"Hey, no, go back to the couch." Sid turned him in a messy, uneven circle and led him back. It took a lot of adjusting to get Geno back down without upsetting his knee, but he was limp and pliant, letting Sid move him without fighting. Sid knew it would only last until the prescription of whatever he was on ran out. "I'll make something to eat. Just sit." Geno nodded and stared at the dark screen of the TV. 

Someone- probably the same someone who had brought the water- had filled the fridge. Sid pulled out butter and scrounged around the cupboards until he found bread. Toast would have to be enough for now. He didn't know what he'd do if Geno puked. Probably throw up right along with him. Christ, they were doomed to fuck up. When the bread had browned, he carefully buttered it, knife parallel to the counter. His hand shook a little, but he held it still when he reached the crusts through sheer force of will. 

He placed the toast on a folded paper towel and handed it over. Geno lifted it to his mouth but paused before he took a bite, obviously wandering away for a moment. He looked sad and pathetic. Broken. Sid gnawed on his lip as he sat down. They were a matched set, just like everyone had always said they were. 

_I could break his knee,_ Sid thought, staring at the swollen cap of it through the brace. The black stitches sank into the skin, already dissolving away. It would be so easy. The right pressure, the right place. He could almost see the skin tearing under his hands. _If I can't ever play again, I can at least keep him with me._

"Okay?" Geno asked groggily. Sid snapped out of it. Cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. He inched away, tucking his hands under his thighs. He wouldn't have- Geno didn't deserve to be hurt. Sid would _never_ \- "Your head?"

"Yeah," Sid choked out. Geno leaned forward and soothed a big hand over Sid's hair, his lips twisting at the corners. His eyes were painkiller bright, glazed over enough that they looked like marbles. He left his hand on Sid's head as his eyes slid shut. Sid sat still as Geno dozed and counted his breaths. 

\---

Geno slept a lot. Sid didn't blame him. Instead, he spent his days tidying up the house, reorganizing Geno's shelves and scraping dust from the edges of photo frames. He didn't like cleaning much, didn't usually have to do it, but it kept his hands busy and that was better than nothing. 

Sometimes, he felt fine. The light didn't hurt, his vision was as perfect as it ever was. His stomach didn't roll at even the thought of food. Then he'd move just so, or something would catch his eye and everything would crash down again. He kept a notebook full of things he did on days he felt good and analyzed them like plays, looking for the key to getting better. 

Nothing had worked so far, but Sid had always been determined. 

Game days, Sid made his five o'clock sandwich and ate it at the counter in silence, forcing himself to keep it down. When the nausea was too strong to bear, he choked down a bottle of water and held his breath. If he kept it down, the team would have good luck. If he threw up, if he couldn't finish the whole thing, they'd fail. 

They listened to the broadcasts on Geno's phone, huddled together on the couch. Sid had to stay close or Geno would try to wander off on his own, restless in a way that Sid knew too well. The crutches worked, but Geno was still weaning off the painkillers and his balance was shot. Sid had picked him up off the floor once already. Neither of them talked about it. 

"We should be there," Geno said as the team slowly tanked in Calgary. The announcers' voices were mocking as they ripped into the Penguins' play, as they brought up Sid and Geno's absences over and over again. 

"Yeah," Sid said. What else was he supposed to say? He'd never had a full healthy season and as time wore on, he wondered if maybe he never would. It had been over a month and his symptoms were just as bad as they had been from day one. The rest of his life might be dark rooms and doctor's appointments and going slowly crazy. 

"Next year," Geno said softly as the Flames put in another goal. "We play all year. We get another Cup." He said something in Russian, but it didn't really matter. 

Next year Geno could go back. His knee would heal. Tissue and muscle and tendons repaired themselves. They were tangible, easily monitored as they healed. Sid's brain- brains were squishy and made of as much electricity as organic material. Sid had lost his spark and it might never come back. 

_Break it,_ Sid thought. _Break it, make him stay with you, misery loves company and you are so, so miserable._

Geno rested his arm over Sid's shoulders and pulled him in against his side. He was warm and solid. Sid closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Geno smelled like stale sweat and the house didn't smell anything at all like Mario's. They listened to the rest of the game in silence, bodies tense against each other. 

The Penguins lost 5-1. Sid thought of his game day walk around the rink, thought of his unlaced skates and the uncut, untaped sticks in the equipment room with his name on them. The loss wasn't his fault, but he still felt like he hadn't done enough. 

\---

"If you splash me, I'll punch you," Sid said. He eyed Geno suspiciously, not trusting the betrayed, innocent look Geno gave him. 

"You punch man when he down?" Geno asked. He sat on the edge of the shower bench one of the trainers had brought over, one hand covering his crotch. His knee looked angry, swollen so wide that it looked like he had two kneecaps under the skin instead of one. He probably could have handled the shower on his own, but the therapist had told Sid to be nearby just in case. It was weird, but it wasn't anything Sid hadn't seen before. 

"I will if he splashes me," Sid said. Geno snorted and bent forward to turn on the taps. Sid slapped him away, forcing him to sit back up, and did it himself. Geno was down to one painkiller a day, two if PT had worked on him, but Sid didn't want to test his balance any more than they really needed to. "Ready?" 

"I think I like sponge bath better," Geno said dubiously. Sid snorted. 

"You just liked the hot nurse," he said. Geno grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. He put his good leg into the tub, the bench squeaking under his ass as he turned, and hissed when he lifted the bad one. Sid wrapped a careful hand around Geno's ankle and helped him lift up. "Okay?" Geno paused for a moment and then splashed a handful of water onto Sid's chest. Sid punched his shoulder. Geno had been warned. 

Sid sat on the closed toilet seat and leaned back against the tank. He'd been in Geno's house for two weeks. It still felt like a prison, still felt like they were locked away in a box for safekeeping, but Geno was easy to be around. He couldn't do much for himself, not that he didn't try, but Sid liked having a purpose. It was better than being by himself, anyway. Easier to get out of his head if he needed to. 

He'd gone in for his weekly check-up on Friday. It had been a good week. He'd been able to go outside without his sunglasses and he hadn't thrown up for days. There had been talk about maybe trying light workouts again, and Sid had been ready, he'd been so ready-

And then he'd blacked out. 

Dr. Keller hadn't been in the room when he woke up, but Mario had been. He'd been given the next appointment card and a list of recommendations of specialists. Sid spent the drive back twisting his fingers until he'd caught the edge of a nail on a callous and started to bleed. Even then, he hadn't noticed until Mario pointed it out. 

"Do back?" Geno asked. Sid opened his eyes. Geno waved the washcloth at him, splashing water all over the floor. Sid grimaced and mopped it up, leaving the spare towel on the ground. The last thing either one of them needed was to trip. 

"You're so lazy," Sid said, even as he took the cloth and lathered it up. 

"I'm _injured_." Geno dipped his head, exposing the vulnerable nape of his neck. Sid set the washcloth at the edge of one shoulder and dragged it across to the other in a neat line. 

"Your leg is injured," Sid said, lifting the cloth and putting it under the clean strip of skin he'd just wiped down. "Not your arms." Geno shrugged, which made Sid's pass across zigzag. 

Sid started back at the top. 

"You worst nurse," Geno grumbled. Sid ignored him, zoning out on the shape of the soap suds. It seemed important all of the sudden to get them all off. 

Sid wrung the washcloth off under the spray of the shower, water splashing up his arms and onto his chest, but it didn't matter. He needed to get the soap off or Geno's knee would twist again. He rubbed hasty circles onto Geno's back, but that only made it worse. Soap collected in the long ends of Geno's hair and pooled on the shower bench. Geno flinched when Sid scrubbed too hard and Sid mumbled apologies until it occurred to him to grab the shower head and pull it from its holder on the wall. 

When all the soap was gone, Sid took a shaky breath. He felt dizzy, probably needed to sit down, but everything was fine. Geno's knee would heal and he'd go back out to the ice where he belonged and everything was _fine_. Geno glared at Sid over his shoulder, hair dripping into his eyes, and huffed. 

" _Worst_ nurse," he muttered. 

Sid helped Geno lift his bad leg out of the tub, averting his eyes from the wide sprawl of Geno's thighs. Geno dried himself off sitting on the bench, careful around his knee, and Sid let himself be used as a brace as Geno pulled his basketball shorts up. This, helping Geno dress himself, felt more intimate than cleaning him had. Geno groaned as he tucked his crutches under his arms. There were raw, red patches under them from the padding rubbing, and even the soft towels they'd wrapped around the handles weren't enough to ease the ache. 

Geno was sweating again by time they got back to the living room. Sid left him with the remote and a bottle of water and went to the kitchen to start dinner. The sound of the TV followed him in. Geno would shut it off as soon as Sid got back into the room with him. He couldn't do much, but he was still trying to help and Sid- Sid didn't know how he felt about it. 

He watched the water boil on the stove and counted the spaghetti noodles as he dropped them in one by one. He must have spaced out- something that was still happening with alarming frequency- because the water was boiling over onto the burner and hissing at it touched the heat. Sid swore and pulled the pan off onto the counter. When he looked up, Geno was hobbling into the room, face creased with concern. 

"Okay?" Geno asked. Sid nodded, the low thrum headache that never seemed to fully disappear flaring up at the movement. Sid blinked and Geno was next to him, one crutch resting against the counter, his arm around Sid's waist like he'd be able to catch him if he fell. If they fell- "Sit. Come on." 

It was a mess getting to the stools on the other side of the counter, both of them tripping each other as much as they held each other up. Sid made Geno sit on the stool closest to them and dropped heavily into the next one over. A big, warm hand landed between his shoulder blades. Sid leaned back into it. 

Fuck, if he'd been at Mario's, alone in his apartment, he could have burned the house down. _Fuck_.

"Is okay," Geno said softly. He pulled Sid's stool closer and wrapped Sid up in his arms. It was awkward, the counter digging into Sid's hip and Geno's good knee slotted between Sid's, bony kneecap spearing Sid's thigh, but he was warm and Sid could count the in and out of his breaths. 

_You're putting him in danger_ , Sid thought. Geno's hand rubbed soothing circles over Sid's back, his voice a low murmur of words Sid couldn't quite hear. _Just by being alive, you're going to hurt him. He trusts you and you're going to hurt him._

"I need to get out of here," Sid said into Geno's shoulder. His throat closed up, fear an oily, black thing that stole his air. "I can't- I need to get out."

"Sid-"

Sid tried to pull away but Geno wouldn't let him. His arms tightened, crushing Sid into his chest. Sid struggled, but he had no leverage. Geno held on until Sid finally gave in, resting against him. His head hurt and he could feel the hot pulse of a burn on his hand that he didn't remember getting and he was trapped. 

"We go out," Geno said. He let go slowly, gently pushing Sid back onto his stool. He looked as scared as Sid felt, his face too open to ever really hide anything. Usually, Sid liked that about him, liked how easy Geno was to read, but right now he wished for Mario's cool, easy ability to go blank in the face of worry. "Put dinner away. Go change."

"How do you think-"

"Put dinner away," Geno said again. He went to stand and then looked at Sid sheepishly. "Bring crutch first."

Sid did as he was told. He drained the noodles as Geno limped toward the living room and put them into a bowl. He focused on every step, begging his brain to just work again. After he'd put the dishes in the sink, he went upstairs and pulled on a clean sweater and socks. When he got back to the living room, Geno had managed to pull a hoodie and one of his tennis shoes on. He was glaring at the other one where it laid untied on the floor in front of him. Sid knelt down in front of the couch and slid it on over Geno's foot, tying the laces loosely. 

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. Geno shooed him toward it, levering himself off the couch and onto his crutches again. His pill bottle was on the coffee table, one of the giant white pills snapped crudely in half. Tomorrow would be hell on his knee. 

"Squid!" Flower threw his arms around Sid's shoulders, hugging him gently. He stepped back, hands resting on Sid's shoulders, and looked him over. He squeezed Sid's shoulders and grinned. "We miss you being bossy all over us." He looked up and his mouth stretched wider. "Ah, well, you still have Geno to boss around anyway."

"What are you doing here?" Sid asked as Geno joined them in the front hall. 

"Apparently I am an unpaid taxi driver," Flower said. "Come on."

Sid followed him outside into the fading daylight, shivering in the cold. The trees around the house mostly blocked out the sun itself, but the sky was pink and blue and so fucking beautiful Sid wanted to cry. Sid took a deep breath of sweet, fresh air and felt something inside him loosen. 

Flower helped get Geno settled into the backseat, mouth going nonstop about Geno's too long hair and his ugly landscaping choices. It felt almost normal, like they were going to head out to the rink and join the guys. He was being handled. He _knew_ he was being handled, but being outside of the house was enough of a relief that he didn't care. 

They drove to PNC Park. Sid stared out the window as Flower drove, watching Pittsburgh speed by. He'd disappointed them, would keep disappointing them with his broken head and his useless body. For what felt like all his life he'd been Sid the Kid, the Next One, and he hadn't proved it. Might never prove it. 

"One," he whispered, his voice hidden under Flower's locker room gossip. The tightness in his chest had returned. He muttered numbers under his breath until he reached seventy-one, stopped, and started again. He'd only gotten to seventy-three when Flower put the car into park beside the river. He rushed through the rest, panicking as Flower slid the keys out and undid his seatbelt. He had to get to eighty-seven or he'd drown. 

_Seventy-six_.

Flower slid out of the driver's seat and rounded the car. 

_Seventy-nine_.

Geno grumbled as the door behind his back opened, using his hands to push back into Flower's waiting arms. 

_Eighty-two._

The car shook as Flower opened the trunk. Sid couldn't see him, couldn't see anything but the dark river and his own head disappearing under the surface. 

_Eighty-five._

Sid squeezed his eyes shut and raced through to eighty-seven. Relief was like a dam breaking in his chest, swelling around him and releasing the tension coiled through his body. The door on his right side opened and Flower reached in to unbuckle his seatbelt like Sid was a child that needed looking after. 

"Come on, I think G might try to give us the slip," Flower said. Thankfully, he stepped back and let Sid get out on his own. Geno was, in fact, crutching himself towards the river, a gray shape against the dark sky. It would probably snow again soon. Flower gathered up the folding chair that he must have pulled from the trunk and waved a hand at Sid to go. 

They went down the stairs to sit next to the riverbed, hidden by the length of bridge above them. Flower set the chair up next to the support beams and sat heavily on the stone by the stairs, leaning back to look up at the sky. This was where Pittsburgh hosted their firework celebrations on the fourth, where people tailgated Pirates games, but now it was silent. The billboard that hung on one of the skyscrapers across the river flashed from one ad to the next, throwing enough light onto the water to highlight the gentle waves. 

Sid sat on the ground next to Geno's chair. The three of them watched boats float idly down the river, and the quiet was good, something different from the stifling first weeks of solitary confinement. 

"We really do miss you guys," Flower said. He nudged the toe of his shoe against Sid's hip. Sid curled his fingers around Flower's bony ankle and leaned against Geno's good knee. He'd missed touch in a way he thought he wouldn't. He hadn't noticed how many back slaps and friendly nudges and arms around his shoulders he'd gotten until they'd all disappeared. 

"I think I want to go to the rink sometime," Sid said. Geno patted Sid's head absently, humming tunelessly to himself. The painkillers must have kicked in. "I want to see everyone. It's- it's been too long."

"Or," Flower said, wiggling his foot under Sid's hand, "here's an idea: the healthy kids go see the not healthy ones at home. You can kick us out when you're sick of us." He grinned, slow and wide, and threw a pebble at Geno's head. "Plus, I know you too well. We leave you with the ice and you'll find a way to steal it."

"Bring food," Geno said. "If I have to look at ugly faces, I want to eat." Sid expected a jab at his failed cooking earlier, but Geno just kept petting his head. They stayed there, idly talking about the last game until Geno began to nod off. 

When they got back to the house, Flower pulled Sid into another hug, holding onto him for a long moment. Sid tucked his face into the curve of Flower's neck, feeling like nothing more than a child, and fought the sudden overwhelming urge to cry. 

"You can always call," Flower said. "Be good, Kid. We're gonna get you back out there with us."

"Thanks." Sid watched him leave, locking the door behind him. He felt better than he had in weeks. 

"Good trip?" Geno asked when Sid stepped back into the living room. He was laid out on the couch, leg propped up on the arm and eyes half-lidded. He patted the cushion next to his hip and Sid sat carefully in the small space left for him. 

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks. I- I needed it." Geno shrugged one shoulder. 

"You take care of me, I take care of you," he said, like it really was that simple. He scooted back as far into the cushions as he could and wrapped an arm around Sid's waist. It was an awkward angle and it pulled Sid down into a weird crouch that hurt his side and, in the end, it was just easier to lay down next to him. "I'm have concussion when teenager."

"Yeah." Sid had heard about it before, Geno's headfirst slide into the boards. He'd also heard about Geno going back out, safety be damned. Sid kind of wanted to do the same thing. 

"Is scary," Geno said softly. His arm tightened around Sid's stomach, pulling him in closer. There wasn't much wiggle room. "Time goes funny and ears ring and eyes hurt."

"I know," Sid snapped, his voice too sharp. Geno was trying to help. He knew that. It didn't matter. Sid didn't need someone else to condescend to him. Geno's fingers spread out, his palm hot through the cotton of Sid's shirt.

"Is okay be scared. Is okay be mad." Geno tapped his forehead against the nape of Sid's neck. "Is okay want friends around, maybe ask for help, you know?" The rumble of his chest against Sid's back felt good, calming like a cat's purr. Sid closed his eyes and took a slow breath in. "We team, yes?"

"Yeah, G," Sid said. "We're team."

\---

Samantha the physical therapist was small, blonde, and completely and totally impervious to Geno's charms. Sid watched from the armchair as she made Geno bend and flex his knee, her mouth pursed into a displeased little moue. Geno whined the whole time, sweating and swearing when she pushed him harder. 

"You don't use it, you lose it," Samantha said for maybe the hundredth time. It was her own personal motto, and Sid agreed, even if he wouldn't say so out loud. 

"I rather lose," Geno grumbled. "Who needs hockey?" 

Sid flinched. He knew Geno was kidding, knew that Geno was following every instruction to the best of his ability, even as he complained. It looked like it hurt, but Sid would have gladly gone through pain to get his head back on straight. He'd done a press conference the day before, smiling and nodding and answering question after question about his recovery and lingering symptoms and the team's performance without both him and Geno. It had been torture, but it was the only part of his job he could do anymore. 

"You're going to use a walker next week," Samantha said as she wrapped Geno's knee. Geno flinched a little as she taped it off. 

"I'm grandfather now?" He asked. 

"Welcome to the world, Pappy," Samantha said brightly. She patted Geno's knee and began tucking her things back into her bag. "Keep an eye on him, Sidney. I expect him to do his exercises twice a day."

"For sure," Sid said. He walked Samantha to the door and waved, squinting against the bright afternoon light shining off the snow. Winter was still lingering, bitterly cold and drab. Sid ached for summer. It would feel less like he was missing from his team without the snow constantly reminding him. 

"Harpy," Geno said when Sid got back to the living room. He wiped his face off with a kitchen towel and scowled at his legs. "Let her do exercises with broken knee."

"It's not broken," Sid said, patting Geno's sweaty hair. "Just torn."

"You sleep outside," Geno said. "No traitors in house."

"If I have to sleep outside, you have to cook your own dinner." Sid laughed at the scandalized look Geno shot him. 

It was easy to be in a good mood. He'd gotten through a whole light workout cycle without getting dizzy or puking. Dr. Keller still wouldn't let him get anywhere near the ice, but Flower and Tanger had snuck Sid and Geno into the Igloo after practice and let them just sit. It had left Sid itchy, his empty hands clenching like he'd be able to just summon his stick if he thought hard enough about it, but the cold air and the familiarity of being on the bench with Geno at his side had been almost perfect. 

Geno badgered Sid into making lasagna, sitting at the counter while Sid cooked, making remarkably useless comments about Sid's spice choices. They'd spent too many of Sid's precious TV hours on cooking competition shows and Geno, who refused to cook anything more complicated than eggs, took to judging like it was his new job. Sid tried his best not to encourage it, but Geno always got him to laugh in the end, no matter how hard Sid fought it. 

"The guys are coming over tomorrow, right?" Sid asked when they sat down at the table. The lasagna was a little lopsided, but it smelled incredible. Sid's stomach grumbled. He didn't care if he threw it all back up later. He wanted carbs and dairy and red meat. 

"Yes," Geno said. He took a giant bite of pasta and made a pleased, low noise, eyes half lidded. Sid's dick twitched in his sweats, which would have been an awesome sign of the recovery of his long lost libido, but it was because of _Geno_ , who currently had sauce on his chin and bedhead that would scare a small child. "Vero say she make crab pizza for Flower to bring. I share if you help hide it."

"Good luck with that," Sid said. Vero's crab pizza was maybe the best food any of them had tasted and Flower had a penchant for standing guard over it until he'd had his own fill. "You gonna fight Flower for it?" Geno waved his free hand, stuffing his food into his cheek. It should have been gross. It _was_ gross, but something a lot like fondness made Sid grin anyway. 

"Flower skinny," Geno said. "I hold him, you run, we split prize."

"Between us, we almost make one healthy person," Sid said. It almost didn't hurt to joke about it. 

"Best team," Geno agreed. He cut another heaping portion of lasagna from the pan and put it on his plate. Sid probably should have discouraged it- They weren't playing, weren't practicing, and, outside of PT, Geno wasn't working out at all- but Geno seemed to be enjoying his food with gusto and Sid was pleased to have done something right.

\---

The guys were trying not be loud, but it was almost impossible to keep twenty guys in one place quiet for long. Sid had a headache riding at the back of his skull, but he reveled in the sounds of his team arguing and wrestling and being general assholes all around him. He'd already gotten enough manly smacks to the back to make the spot between his shoulder blades ache and Tanger had kissed him loud and messy on the cheek as soon as he'd walked in the door, and it was fucking perfect. 

He and Geno had not, in fact, been able to run off with the crab pizza but Vero, who was a saint, had sent an extra along for Sid and Geno specifically and it was currently hidden in the extra refrigerator in the basement. There was enough food spread out on the kitchen table to feed them all with leftovers, which Sid considered a success all on its own. He had to keep stopping himself from grabbing a beer from the cooler in the kitchen, but Geno hadn't taken any painkillers through the day and was happily making up for lost time, bossing the rookies into getting him new bottles when the one he was nursing emptied out. 

"Is it just me or is he even more obnoxious than usual?" Jordy asked, leaning against the counter next to Sid. Geno was holding court, leg propped up on a pillow, arms waving as he told some ridiculous story or another to the rookies. Talbo sat at his feet, nodding along earnestly, eyes suspiciously wide. Sid rubbed at his chest, trying to alleviate the ache that sat just below his sternum. 

"He's having fun," Sid said, dodging as a bottle cap flew past his head, thrown by one of the whistling French Canadians. "They'll eventually figure out that he's full of shit."

"Yeah, but we have to watch him be all smug while it still lasts," Jordy said, grinning too wide for it to have any real punch. He bounced his shoulder against Sid's. "So, how is it living with Dad? Is the love still there, or are we going to have to have the divorce talk with Nealsy?" 

"It's good," Sid said, surprised to find he meant it. They had their routines down, had learned to navigate the mess of living with another person pretty easily. Geno still couldn't do a lot on his own, but he had finally become mostly mobile. Sid still oversaw showers because he got itchy and worried about Geno slipping and cracking his head open, but Geno didn't seem bothered by it. "And why am I Mom?"

"It's your loving and gracious nature," Jordy said seriously. Sid dead armed him and wandered off towards Duper. 

"Come on," Duper said, throwing an arm over Sid's shoulders and pulling him down onto the loveseat. "I know you want to do it. I know it's killing you not to do it. You have-" Duper glanced at his watch and sighed. "Twenty minutes, no more, to talk about our gameplay. After that, I'm walking away."

"You're such a dick," Sid said, even as a swell of fondness blindsided him. Duper raised an eyebrow and tapped his watch. He was a dick and Sid hated him, but he still launched into suggestions for the shitty PK. It wasn't like Geno could do anything about it with him other than commiserate. 

Geno kicked everyone out just after nine. Sid's head had gone from a faint ache to a full on pound, but he didn't want the guys to leave so soon. He didn't know when the next time he'd get to see them would be and the house would feel vast and empty without them. He could live with a headache, could live with the little dancing spots of color under his eyelids. When he tried to protest, Geno slapped a big hand over Sid's mouth. 

"Everyone fuck off," Geno said cheerfully. His accent was thicker, the beers catching up to him, and his palm was damp. Sid considered licking it, but he was pretty sure at some point Geno had pet both Max and Nealer's heads and he didn't want the chemicals from their hair in him. 

Flower and Duper packed what was left of the food up and shoved it in the fridge with the rest of the beer that probably wouldn't be drunk for a long time. Duper hugged them both on his way out, ruffling Sid's hair with a fond smile. He, Sid thought, should be the Mom. 

"Thanks for this," Sid said as he walked Flower to the door. Flower grinned and yanked Sid against him. 

"Get your head on straight, eh?" Flower said into Sid's hair. "We need our captain."

"I'm working on it," Sid said. He'd get back or die trying. Geno handed him the bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water when he got back into the living room, knocking his own pills back with a grimace. 

"Sleep," Geno groaned. Sid snorted. 

"It's not even ten yet."

"Don't care. Sleep." Geno held his hand out and wiggled it impatiently until Sid took it and hauled him to his feet. He was unsteady on his crutches and, in the end, it was easier for Sid to just tuck himself under Geno's arm and march him to the downstairs guest room. 

This was nothing new, either. Sid had put Geno to bed drunk a fair share of times. Sometimes he was sober, the designated adult to his rambunctious, happy group of kids, other times he'd been just as drunk, tripping over his own feet and shushing Geno like someone's mom would wake up if they made too much noise. If it weren't for the pain still clogging his head, he could pretend it was just a normal night with the guys. 

"You sleep, too," Geno said when Sid knelt next to the bed to fuss with the buttons of Geno's jeans. They were smooth, worn metal that had been warmed from riding against Geno's stomach all night and Sid's fingers kept slipping against them. 

"I will," Sid said, making a small noise of triumph as the fly of Geno's jeans parted. Jesus, it really was the little victories. Geno flopped back on the bed and raised his hips, letting Sid pull his pants off without actually doing anything to help. 

"Sleep here," Geno said. 

"G-"

"Sleep here," Geno said again. He patted the mattress with a clumsy hand. "You fall upstairs, who gonna pick you up?"

"You've got the injuries backwards. I'm the one that can stand on my own." It was tempting to stay. Geno looked warm and pliant, his long arms spread open over the mattress and his chest bare. Over the last month, Sid had found out how easily his head fit at the juncture of those places. 

"Eat dick," Geno mumbled. Sid laughed, his stupid giggle echoing off the walls, and it was enough distraction for Geno to hook an arm around his waist and drag him down onto the bed. With a quick movement, he'd managed to pin Sid down against the mattress, all hundred and ninety pounds of him pressing directly on Sid's kidneys. 

"Get off me." Sid shoved at Geno's shoulders, digging his palms in hard, but Geno just grinned down at him. They both knew Sid wouldn't use his lower body to reverse them, not with the possibility of Geno's knee getting injured more. 

_Easy to make it look like an accident,_ Sid thought. _Your legs are so strong, it wouldn't even take much to just twist and pop his knee back out of place._ Sid closed his eyes and drew in as deep as breath he could. Geno smelled like sweat and hops and cologne, heady and sharp, and Sid made himself focus on that, his body held rigid. He tapped his fingers on Geno's ribs, counting off quick sets of threes until he didn't feel quite so shaken. 

"Sleep here," Geno said, scooting over far enough for Sid to breathe normally. His arm was still draped over Sid's waist and his thigh weighed down Sid's legs, but it felt more like security than being held down. 

"Alright, G," Sid said, awkwardly patting Geno's back. 

Geno shuffled around until he was comfortable, no longer aggressively cuddling, his back pressed against Sid's side. Sid laid there, eyes on the ceiling, until Geno's breathing slowed down. He could have gone back to his own room, could have ignored the weird whatever feeling in his stomach, but- but he didn't want to. It had been actually forever since he'd slept next to someone else, and being close to Geno made him comfortable and relaxed, and if he got up, he'd have to go back to the living room and start counting off steps before he could go to sleep. 

Carefully, he rolled into his side. He touched the soft curls at the base of Geno's skull, separating the sweaty hair strand by strand, and felt like he'd been knocked sideways. He liked Geno. Liked Geno the same way he'd liked his last girlfriend, his heart all twisted up from being so close. Geno was smart and funny and- yes, it was important- so good at hockey that Sid's breath caught watching him sometimes. He didn't laugh at Sid's weird habits or make fun of him in a mean way like some of the team still did. 

Sid inched closer until he could press easily against Geno's back. He held his breath as he curled an arm over Geno's waist, feeling the comforting solidness of him. In a few months, Geno would be well enough to not need a babysitter anymore and Sid would go back to Mario's or finally grow up and get a place of his own, and this time would just be a memory. Maybe Sid would be better, too, maybe he'd never be better, but this- this wouldn't go on forever. Sid closed his eyes and focused on the way Geno's back butted against his chest on every inhale.

\---

There was pressure on his cheek. Sid frowned, turning away from it, burying his face in his pillow. He was too hot and his neck hurt a little and his pillow smelled weird. A soft laugh filtered in past Sid's confusion and he remembered falling asleep wrapped around Geno. Shame curled in his stomach. He'd overstepped his bounds, but Geno didn't seem to mind too much. He hadn't left the bed at least. 

"Everyone think you morning person," Geno said. His voice was low and sleep rough, close enough that Sid could feel the puff of his breath against the shell of his ear. He shivered and wrapped himself tighter around the pillow. "They so wrong."

"Fuck off," Sid mumbled. Geno laughed again. Sid cracked open one eye. Geno's stupid puppy dog face was right next to his, his hair wild and his goofy, crooked mouth tilted up into a warm smile. Sid's heart stuttered against his ribs. Everything went blurry when Geno lifted a hand, one finger extended. He bopped Sid's nose and grinned. "Shouldn't you be hungover?"

"I'm Russian," Geno scoffed. "Little bit of beer not enough for hangover."

"I thought you were Polish," Sid said, mostly for the offended, put out look Geno gave him. "Polish, Russian, all the same right?" Geno's eyes narrowed and Sid had just enough time to roll himself onto his back before Geno was on top of him, fingers digging hard into Sid's ribs. 

"All Canadians stupid," Geno said, riding the motion of Sid's bucking hips. Sid's breathless laughter filled the room as Geno mercilessly exploited the ticklish spots under Sid's arms and over his hips. "Americans better."

"Liar," Sid gasped. Geno was heavy over him, his face broken open with happiness, and Sid wanted so much in that moment. "You hate Americans."

"Change mind," Geno said. "Canadians worst. Make dumb rules for hockey, have weird thing for tree juice, say baby winters so hard to live in." Sid snorted. The last time they'd been in Toronto in January, Geno had bitched louder than anyone else about the cold. 

For a moment they just laid there, Sid catching his breath and Geno grinning down at him. For once, Sid's head was blissfully, mercifully silent. The brightness of Geno's smile dimmed slowly, but before Sid could ask what was wrong, Geno was leaning down, blocking out what little light came in through the window. Sid's breath caught in his throat as Geno's lips brushed against his, soft and careful. 

"What are you doing?" Sid asked when Geno pulled away. His eyes were so, so dark, and Sid couldn't look away. Geno started to roll off of him, but Sid locked his thighs around Geno's hips and held him in place. "Geno?"

"Is-" Geno shook his head. "Bad idea, maybe. Forget about it." 

"Geno," Sid said again. All the silence inside his head had vanished, the space eaten up by flash quick thoughts that made him feel stupid and dazed. His fingers twitched against Geno's back. He didn't know if he should let go or hold on tighter. 

"You so-" Geno sighed, his breath warm against Sid's jaw. He pushed himself up, breaking Sid's loose hold on him, and sat next to Sid's hip, good leg drawn up against his stomach. He wiped a hand over his face and sighed. "Why you come here in first place?"

"To help you," Sid said. He laid as still as he could. If he moved, he'd scare Geno off for good. He could feel it in his bones, the sure knowledge of it terrifying enough to quell his urge to fidget. 

"Could have let nurse take care of me," Geno said. Honestly, Sid hadn't thought of it. He hadn't been needed at all. Mario had just said- and Sid had gone- and- "Don't have to stay when I'm stop taking pills. Don't have to watch to see if I fall in shower. Don't have to cook for me when you only eat a little. Why you here, Sid?" Geno wasn't looking at him. Sid took in a slow, shaky breath. 

"You make my head quiet," he whispered. His lower back ached from holding position, but he couldn't move. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "You didn't treat me any differently when I got here. Not like- not like everyone else did. You still think I have a chance to go back, even though I might not."

Silence stretched between them. Sid stared at the flex of Geno's fingers where they rested on his good knee. He wanted to reach out and touch the swell of his knuckles, wanted to feel for his pulse at the pale, delicate inside of his wrist. It felt like time had left them behind, the guest room so achingly quiet that every breath Sid took in rattled in his ears. Finally, finally, Geno turned his hand over, his palm up and fingers extended. Sid closed his eyes and reached. 

"We good together," Geno said as he fit his fingers between Sid's. 

"Yeah." A sharp pain rippled up Sid's back as he sat up, his muscles cramping as he released tension. He brushed a kiss over Geno's warm cheek, feeling small and maybe a little dumb, but Geno's fingers just tightened around his. "Come on. I'll make breakfast for the hangover you don't have."

"Best," Geno said, the same as he had hundreds of times before, and something bright and sweet exploded in Sid's chest. 

\---

They didn't talk about it again. Sid made breakfast, showered, and crawled into Mario's SUV for his doctor's appointment. Mario kept giving him weird looks which Sid ignored. Without Geno next to him, it was easy to think he'd imagined the whole thing. Nerves made his stomach turn and by time they got to Dr. Keller's office Sid had convinced himself that he'd had a hallucination. 

_You're useless to him,_ Sid thought as he slid out of the car into the parking garage. _Can't play hockey, can't go outside for longer than a few hours at a time, can't go to sleep without counting like a freak. What good are you?_

"Are you alright?" Mario asked, his hand curling gently around Sid's elbow. Sid jerked away, startled. Mario frowned but didn't try to touch him again. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

"I'm fine." Sid smiled tightly and waved. "I'll see you when it's over." He didn't look back at Mario as he took the elevator to the office. 

The thing about concussion testing was that it wasn't foolproof. Sidney had the cognitive questions memorized, had learned the order of the trail marking tests. He still fumbled some of the coordination skills, still shrank from the pen light when it tested the dilation of his pupils, but on paper he looked like he was getting better. Words, Sidney had realized a long time ago, rarely meant anything at all. 

"How have the workouts been going?" Dr. Keller asked when he'd finished taking Sid's vitals. Sid shrugged. 

"Alright," he said. "I don't think I've been this skinny since I was a teenager."

"He says as though he is either skinny or that far off from still being a teenager," Dr. Keller said with a grin. Sid rubbed his palms against the rough denim over his kneecaps and felt the absence of muscle he should have been carrying this time of the season. "The good news is, I think we can get you back onto the ice for a light- and I do mean light, Sidney, please listen to that advice- skate next week if everything is still checking out. A few laps to test your balance for now. We'll work up to more if it goes well."

Relief welled up in him so sharp and fast it felt like he'd been punched. Sid bent over his knees and took a steadying breath. Fuck, the ice. He didn't care if they gave him one of the balance walkers they gave the kids. He'd suffer through the laughter and the mocking as long as it meant he could touch blade to ice. 

"Sidney?"

"I'm okay," Sid said quickly. "Just happy. God, really? I can go back out?"

"No more than fifteen minutes," Dr. Keller said, his face creased with worry. "I mean it, Sidney. You're doing well, but I'm still worried about several of your symptoms. You go too fast, take a fall, it might set you all the way back to the beginning."

"I'll be careful," Sid promised. 

The rest of the appointment passed by in a blur. He'd been out for over twenty games already. He hadn't even been allowed to go to the rink, Flower's illegal field trips notwithstanding. Just the idea of being back where he belonged stole his breath. He nodded along to Dr. Keller's instructions and debriefing without hearing the words. He already knew the important part. 

Mario hugged him when Sid told him the news. Sid pressed his face against the Mario's shoulder and tried not to shake. They didn't talk about it in the ride home and Mario didn't press him for any other details about the appointment. He knew Sid well enough to know that nothing else mattered. 

Geno was in the living room, grimacing as he pushed a walker across the floor, taking careful steps behind it. The dressing around his knee was fresh, Samantha's doing, white and stark against the red of his basketball shorts. He'd combed his hair, but his jaw was dark with stubble and Sid needed- Sid wanted-

Geno startled when Sid got into his space but didn't try to move away. Sid leaned over the handle of the walker, Geno's hands pressing into his stomach, his heart beating hummingbird quick in his chest, and pressed a quick, hard kiss to Geno's slack lips. It felt just as surreal now in broad daylight as it had in the dim light of morning, but Geno just smiled at him, soft and sweet and surprised. 

"I can skate next week," Sid said, his words rushing over each other. Geno's smile burst open and he nearly took them both down when he yanked Sid into a crushing hug. The handle of the walker dug into Sid's hips, but the pain was good, kept him aware of how real everything was. 

"Good," Geno said into his hair. "So happy for you." Sid held onto him for a long moment, breathing him in, but eventually had to step backward. Geno steadied himself and sighed down at the walker. "Still kiss me when I have to use this? Must be crazy from excitement."

"Maybe," Sid allowed. He sat on the couch and watched Geno finish his exercises. He felt like he was vibrating, his body so amped up that he couldn't sit still. He wanted to go for a run or pull out last year's training plan and put his body through the whole thing, but he couldn't and he wouldn't, not when he was so close to what he wanted. 

"You make me tired," Geno said when he slumped down onto the couch. His temples were a bit damp with sweat and he'd lost his shirt before Sid had even got home, and Sid wanted him in a visceral, needy way. "Stop moving."

"I can't," Sid said. Even then his knee was bouncing, his hands opening and closing on his lap. It felt like the time he'd stayed up two nights in a row back at Shattucks once he'd gotten past the initial exhaustion. Geno sighed and laid his hand on Sid's knee, pressing down until it was still. 

"I could help?" Geno asked. He wasn't looking at Sid straight on, but his tongue darted out over his bottom lip and Sid knew what he was offering without having to ask. Heat curled in his belly, familiar and foreign all at once. 

"Yeah," he said before he could back out of it. "Yes." Geno grinned and didn't even make a fuss as he hauled himself back up with the walker. 

The guest room looked the same as it had in the morning, sheets still rumpled and the phone charger plugged in next to the nightstand trailing across the floor and Geno's jeans in a heap at the foot of the bed. It was surreal and grounding, and Sid had to take a moment to just close his eyes and convince himself of the differences. A warm hand settled in the small of his back and Sid leaned into it 

"Okay?" Geno asked, his thumb drawing a loose, sloppy circle over Sid's spine through his henley. 

"Yeah. Come on. You shouldn't be standing up." Sid wanted to take back the words as soon as they were out- he hadn't meant it that way- but Geno was already laughing. Sid scrunched up his nose, but Geno shuffled the walker around and sat heavily on the end of the mattress, stretching his bad leg out in front of him. 

"Come here," Geno ordered, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of Sid's jeans and reeling him in. Sid leaned down to meet him halfway and then they were kissing again, Geno's mouth soft against his. 

The angle was awkward and Sid's back wasn't up for the task for long, but kissing was easy and comforting and Sid let himself get lost in the feel of Geno's lips against his, let himself slide his fingers through Geno's hair and hold on for just that little bit longer. He was still wound up tight, body humming with anticipation, but he didn't want to stop and do anything about it. When he couldn't hold the angle anymore, he reluctantly pulled back. Geno's eyes were wide and dark and a pulse of arousal made Sid's knees weak. 

"Can't do much now," Geno said, lifting one hand to push Sid's shirt up. Sid grabbed the back of it and pulled it off himself, letting it drop to the floor next to Geno's jeans. "When knee better…" He shrugged. A flare of hope tempered Sid's arousal. This could last past their injuries. This could be something he got to keep. 

"I'm good with anything," Sid said. Geno grinned again and traced the fading definition of Sid's abs gently enough to draw out a helpless giggle. 

"No one tell me you easy," Geno said, his palm going flat over Sid's navel. Sid's dick twitched at the closeness. "I'm think is going to be hard work. Just have to offer, you go into bed?"

"For you, anyway," Sid said. He sucked in a sharp breath when Geno's hand slid down to cup him through his jeans. He hadn't so much as thought about jerking off since he'd gone down and just that touch had his cock hard and eager. Geno ground the heel of his palm down over the head of Sid's dick and Sid's hands shot out, grabbing Geno's bare shoulders for stability.

He sucked in his stomach as Geno undid the clasp of his belt, holding his breath. Geno's knuckles bumped against Sid's cock as he undid button and zipper, his hands so big that it was impossible for them not to, and as soon as the denim was out of the way, Sid's erection pushed out between the folds, tenting his boxers. Geno grinned again, wolfish and sharp, before leaning in to place an almost chaste kiss against the head of Sid's cock through the fabric. 

Sid freed a hand and curled it around the back of Geno's neck, feeling the warm, damp skin and the soft curls of Geno's hair against his thumb. Geno pushed Sid's jeans and boxers down and Sid stepped out of them, tripping a little over Geno's feet. He straddled Geno's left thigh to keep himself from bumping Geno's knee. It brought him closer, his cock close enough to Geno's face that he could feel his breaths against the red, sticky head. 

Geno brushed his lips over the side of Sid's dick gently, his eyes turned up towards Sid's face, and Sid's fingers tightened around his neck. Geno did it again on the other side, then a third time over the head. A shiny line bisected his mouth, but before Sid could think too much about it, Geno licked a slow, hot path over Sid's cock, his lips closing around the head. Sid closed his eyes. 

It was slow and hot and wet, inexperienced but so good that Sid's thighs shook. It was hell keeping his hips still, the urge to push in farther, to feel Geno choke and splutter around him grinding against the too good feel of letting Geno have control. One of Geno's hands slid down to wrap around the base of Sid's cock, his fingers curling around Sid's balls and tugging, pulling them up. Sid clamped his knees around Geno's thigh, his whole weight supported by Geno's body. When he let himself look, Geno's mouth was stretched wide, his lips shiny from spit. 

"Fuck, G." Sid's hips jerked, a tiny motion he couldn't control, and Geno's fingers tightened around his balls. He felt lightheaded and cross-eyed, everything but the darkness of Geno's hair and the sweet, coiling ache of pleasure in his stomach falling away. " _Fuck_."

Geno pulled away to suck in a breath. Sid nearly toppled them over trying to get his mouth back on Geno's, only Geno's quick reflexes and solid core strength keeping him up. Geno laughed and tilted his head back, letting Sid lick into his mouth. Sid's skin was too tight, his whole body one vibrating nerve that hummed with every beat of his heart. He groaned when Geno gave him a slow, tight stroke, pausing to squeeze the head gently. Sid rutted against him, fucking up into his hand with sharp, quick snaps of his hips, holding Geno's mouth to his. 

He didn't want to come yet, wanted to bask in the _so good, so good_ feeling of Geno touching him, but he could already feel the beginnings of his orgasm building up in his stomach, his body tensing. Geno slid his free hand around Sid's hip, his nails scoring stinging lines over the meat of Sid's ass, and Sid groaned against his mouth. He thought about Geno spread out under him, long legs wrapped around Sid's waist, thought about Geno shoving him to his knees and using him. 

"Geno-" Everything in him snapped, his body frozen in place as he came hot and sticky on Geno's chest, over the hand that was still working his cock. He couldn't hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears, couldn't do anything but suck in short breaths and trust Geno to keep him standing. 

When he could move again, Sid shoved at Geno's shoulders, knocking him back onto the mattress. The headboard smacked against the wall, loud and lewd, and Geno laughed even as Sid climbed into his lap. Sid sucked on the jut of Geno's collarbone, bit at one of Geno's nipples, rolling the peak of it between his teeth. He wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to pour the good feelings running through him straight into Geno's veins. Geno groaned when Sid rocked down against his dick and the sound made something vicious and satisfied rise up in Sid's chest. 

Sid slid down onto the floor, careful of Geno's bum knee, and wrapped his hands around Geno's skinny calves. The muscles were firm, strong, and the coarse hair tickled at Sid's palms. Sid touched his lips gently to the healing scar on Geno's kneecap, guilt welling up as he thanked it. Geno had been hurt, had been made as useless as Sid, and that alone had brought them here. 

Sid knelt up and kissed the sharp arch of Geno's hip, tongue sliding across it to soak in the salty taste of his sweat. He hadn't gone down on someone in what felt like forever and his body was stupid with endorphins and he could feel the heat bleeding from Geno's cock, still trapped under his basketball shorts, tenting the fabric obscenely. He hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled, getting them far enough down to trap Geno's thighs together. Sid sucked a kiss into the soft, hot place where Geno's balls met the base of his dick and Geno groaned. 

"Up, up," Geno said, one hand flailing around until he got a hold on Sid's hair. He pulled, gently but insistently, until Sid crawled back up the bed next to him. 

"You don't want me to suck you off?" Sid asked, even as Geno rolled onto his side, drawing him in close. The heat between them was almost unbearable, sweat sticking the sheets to them and making Sid's skin itchy. Geno groaned again and dragged his thumb over Sid's lower lip. 

"Want so much," Geno said. He dipped the tip of his thumb into Sid's mouth, dragging the pad over his teeth. "Later. Don't want to hurt head." Sid scowled, which didn't seem to do anything but make Geno's thumb slide farther into his mouth. He ignored the casual way Geno said _later_ like it was a given. 

"Giving you a blowjob isn't going to make my concussion worse," Sid said, the words a little garbled around Geno's thumb. Geno slid it free and rocked his hips against Sid's stomach, his cock leaving a damp smear over Sid's hip. 

"Maybe I want kiss," he said with a grin. He ducked in and did just that, one arm tucked under Sid's head and the other curled around his shoulders, his fingers still in Sid's hair. His lips were swollen and slick and arousal swirled in Sid's stomach. 

Sid wiggled a hand between them, the wetness of his own come on Geno's chest coating the back of his knuckles. Geno moaned, their lips breaking apart as Sid's fingers found his cock. Sid thumbed the slit of Geno's dick, feeling the wetness there, and Geno thrust up against him. The angle was awkward and Sid couldn't quite do anything but give Geno his palm to rub off against, but that seemed to be enough. Geno bit at his lips, sucked at the hinge of Sid's jaw hard enough to bruise. 

"Come on, G," Sid gasped. He pressed his fingertips into the soft skin at the base of Geno's dick, tugging his sac up, grinding the heel of his palm into the hot underside. Geno rocked against him a few more times, his arm locked tight around Sid's shoulders, and Sid hissed out a sharp breath when Geno's teeth sank into the meat of his shoulder. Sticky hot wetness exploded out onto his hand, his wrist, and he held still, letting Geno ride it out. 

After a moment, Geno rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling quickly. Their legs dangled off the end of the mattress and Geno's shorts were still around his thighs. Sid laughed. Geno glared at him, which just made the giggles build up until Sid was breathless and sore. Geno wiggled around until he could kick off his shorts and rolled back on top of Sid, the sticky mess on his stomach smearing into Sid's skin. 

"You _worst_ ," Geno said with feeling. Sid let out another helpless giggle. He was warm and loose and… happy. He was really fucking happy. Geno lifted his head, his sleepy eyes and wide mouth so familiar that Sid would have been able to describe them years later without ever seeing Geno again. "Hey."

"Hi." Sid traced the slope of Geno's nose, the curve of his top lip. Geno grinned and shook his head. 

"You so weird," he said and Sid shrugged. "Come on. We clean then nap, yes?"

"I got it." Sid pushed at Geno's shoulders and sat up when he'd been freed. His head was a little fuzzy, but he didn't let himself linger on it. If it was still weird after their nap, he'd call Dr. Keller. 

He washed his hands in the sink, tilting his head back to look at the intimidating bruise Geno had left on the side of his neck. It hurt a little when he pressed on it, a dull ache that sent tingles down his spine, but it was mostly a visual reminder. Evgeni Malkin was here. Sid snorted and wet a washcloth down, wiping off his own stomach before heading back to the bedroom. 

Geno was sprawled out on the bed, unashamedly naked, bad leg propped on a pillow and eyes closed. Sid let himself take it in. Geno was long everywhere, so much dark skin and corded muscle. He'd thinned out a little without the constant workouts, and his stomach- which had always been a little soft for a hockey player- was a bit rounded from all the food Sid had been cooking for him. He looked young laying there, relaxed in a way he hadn't been since he'd gotten hurt. He cracked open one dark eye and smiled. Sid's chest tightened, his heart skipping a beat. Geno had been there all along. Sid just hadn't looked. 

"Know I'm pretty," Geno said, his voice slow and a little rough. "But stop stare and sleep." 

Sid shook himself off and took his time scrubbing Geno's stomach clean. Geno made a soft, interested noise as Sid carefully wiped the cloth over his dick, but didn't do anything other than throw an arm out to the side in clear invitation. Sid tossed the cloth into the hamper and slid into the space Geno had made for him. 

"Good?" Geno asked as Sid laid his head in the cradle of his arm. 

"Yeah," Sid said. He wasn't tired, but he wasn't quite as wound up as he had been. He felt calm. Centered. Almost normal. Geno hummed and patted Sid's shoulder. He was out in minutes, his soft snores endearing in a way they shouldn't have been. 

As Geno slept, Sid counted his scars. They were light, most of them already faded and hard to see in the dim light in the room, but Sid leaned in close enough to tell the difference between textures of skin. If he leaned just right, he could see the shine of them. His knuckles had a lot that criss-crossed over each other and Sid kept losing count. It was fine though. Once he'd found the scars, he knew where to look again. He couldn't check Geno's back, couldn't study the places hidden under his hair or his nails, but that was fine. Those ones were okay to skip. 

\---

Being back on the ice was like coming home. Sid hadn't bothered putting on his gear- it was too much like getting what he really wanted- but his skates felt the same as they ever had and cold air burned in his lungs as he pushed off for his first stride. Chris trailed behind him, giving him enough space that he didn't feel like a toddler being chaperoned by an overbearing parent, and Geno sat in the stands, grinning widely as Sid passed him by. 

Sid took a lazy lap around the boards. He wanted to race, wanted to put on the speed that he usually had, but he was going to take Dr. Keller at his word and save it for later. If this went well, he'd get to go back to on-ice training sessions. They'd be short and he wouldn't be able to join the team, but he'd be skating again and that was step one to getting back for good. 

When his fifteen minutes were up, Sid reluctantly climbed into the stands next to Geno and traded skates for sneakers. He didn't want to go into the locker room, not yet. If he went in there before his time, it would drag everything out longer. He didn't belong there right now, and he had to accept it. It didn't hurt that Geno slung an arm around him as soon as Sid sat up, shaking him and criticizing his form. 

"Looking good, Sid," Chris said. He grinned, writing something down in his trainer's notebook. "I'll tell the Doc what I saw and we'll make a plan. I think you should be set for once a week to get your feet back."

"Thanks," Sid said, hope bursting his chest open wide. Some of the team filtered out in their practice gear, whooping when they saw Sid and Geno in the stands. Flower lumbered his way up into the stands, mask shoved up over his head, and proceeded to suffocate both of them with awkward, over-padded hugs.

"You stink," Geno said into Flower's chest, slapping at his arms and head when Flower hugged him tighter. "Ever wash nasty gear?"

"Your mom washes it for me," Flower said. He leaned back against the rail, legs spread wide to accommodate his pads, and nodded down at Sid's skates. "How'd it go?"

"Pretty good," Sid said. "Might be able to do some light stuff soon." He wanted to say he might be back this season, might have a chance to help the team, but he bit his tongue against it. It wouldn't do good to jinx himself, not when he was so close. "Go back to practice. You need it." Flower snorted. 

"Says you." He patted Sid's head and waddled back down to the ice. Tanger and Duper waved up at them and Sid waved back. He didn't want to stay for practice, but it was good to be there, to feel like he was still part of this team. Geno knocked their knees together and rounded up his walker. He'd tried to beg off of it for the day to save the embarrassment, but Sid and Samantha both had shamed him into it. Samantha said he'd be ready for a cane in another week, which wasn't ideal, but would be less cumbersome than the walker at least. 

Mario drove them home, asking them both questions about their recovery and how they'd been spending the downtime. Sid's ears felt like they were on fire, but he slapped on his best reporter smile and told Mario about the new recipes he wanted to try. By time they got back to Geno's, Sid was flagging, a familiar ache starting in his temples. He couldn't look outside the window without having to immediately close his eyes. Geno noticed but said nothing. Sid had never been more grateful. 

"We nap," Geno said when they were inside. The sound of the SUV pulling away seemed like it was so much closer, so loud that Sid could feel it vibrating in his ears. "Very tired. Work so hard today. Old man walker is very heavy."

"You don't have to make shit up for me," Sid said. Irritation prickled under his skin. He didn't want pity. He wanted to go back an hour to when he was on the fucking upslide. 

"We nap," Geno said again, his voice flat and hard. In all the time Sid had spent here, they hadn't fought over anything more serious than what to have for dinner. Sid itched to hit him, to make him stop looking so fucking condescending and placating. 

_You're heavier,_ Sid thought. _You're faster. He has reach, but you've got strength and aren't working with any physical disabilities. It would be so easy to knock him flat._

"I'm not a fucking child," Sid hissed, clenching his fists at his sides. "You can't just tell me to do shit."

"You want be mad? Want yell? Want make head worse because you too fucking stubborn to lay down and rest?" Geno shoved his walker forward, lurching after it. "You think I'm not mad, too? Think I don't want be out with team?" His voice raised, each syllable like gunfire against Sid's eardrums. "Let's pretend we better, yes? That how we fix, right?" Geno drew himself up to his full height and threw the walker against the wall. It cracked into the plaster, chips of paint showering down the hardwood. Sid jumped at the sound. Geno took one step forward, his jaw clenching as he put weight on his injury. He wobbled on the next one, his knuckles going bone white as he clenched his fists. "I'm fucking fixed."

The anger drained out of Sid as fast as it came. Geno was going to hurt himself again to prove a point, and Sid would have to carry the weight of it on his shoulders. Sid grabbed Geno's arms, steadying him even as he felt the muscles under his palms tensing. For a moment, they just stood there, a standoff that neither could win, and then Geno shook his head. Sid closed his eyes and counted to ten. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just- it feels like I'm better and then I'm not, and I'm so fucking sick of it." Geno leaned more of his weight against Sid, sighing. 

"I know," he said softly. "I know. I want you better too, you know? So stop being jerk and take nap with me."

"Yeah, okay." Sid let go of Geno's arms, wincing at the white marks his fingers had left there, and went to retrieve the walker. Geno took it without complaint and they made their way slowly to the guest room. Geno groaned as he laid down, one hand reaching down to rub at the place just above his surgery scar. 

Sid curled up next to him, hesitantly laying one arm over Geno's waist. He felt small and scared, worn down. The ache in his head had grown, pounding at the base of his skull in time to the beat of his heart. Geno rubbed his thumb over the nape of Sid's neck, pressing it into the tense muscle there. It didn't help, not really, but he was trying. 

"I don't think I'm ever going to get better," Sid whispered. Geno shushed him, pulling him in closer. He was warm and solid, secure. Sid clung to him and bit back a useless wail of frustration. 

"You get better when you get better," Geno said. He pressed a gentle kiss to Sid's forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment, like he could remove Sid's pain if he just waited long enough. "You get back on ice for good soon, I promise." Sid didn't believe him, couldn't, but he nodded anyway. 

\---

The Capitals came to town at the end of March. Sid and Geno sat together on the couch, Sid leaned back on Geno's chest, and watched the game. It still hurt to watch the team without them, still made a pit of ache and want and anger open up in Sid's chest, but he'd skated two more times and been cleared in the morning to go out for no-contact practices before games. In two days, he'd be with the team. It didn't matter that he couldn't play for real yet, didn't matter that he wouldn't be able to push himself as hard as he wanted to. It was a step in the right direction and he had to let it ride. 

"Sanja want to go for drinks after game," Geno said during second intermission. He rubbed a wide circle over Sid's stomach, lazy and content. Sid sighed and leaned into it. Geno had always been free and loose with physical affection, but he'd gotten even more grabby since they'd started sleeping together. It was… nice. Soothing. 

"Even if he loses?" Sid asked. Currently, the Penguins were up 3-1. Sid never bet, never let his wishful thinking lead him into definitive statements, but he had a good feeling about the game. His boys were pushing for the playoffs and Sid had absolute faith in them. 

"Especially if he lose," Geno said. He rubbed his nose against Sid's temple, laughing when Sid smacked at him. "Then he drink free. You come, too?"

"One," Sid said, reaching for the remote as the teams skated back onto the ice, "I'm still not allowed to drink." He turned the volume back up, wincing as yet another comment about their absence was made. Flower said the team had a fund set up. One of the wives counted the number of time the injuries were brought up, kept track until the end of the game, and then the guys put in cash for each one. Their welcome back party would be lavish and dangerous. "Two, when you and Ovechkin get drunk together you forget I don't speak Russian and Ovechkin makes fun of me."

"I protect your honor," Geno said, the shape of his grin unmistakable against Sid's temple. Sid elbowed him. 

"Shut up, it's starting."

The Penguins won 4-2. Satisfaction burned bright in Sid's body. With or without him, his boys knew how to take care of business. Geno and Sid celebrated with a series of kisses that left Sid half hard in his shorts, balanced on Geno's lap precariously. He considered pushing himself down between Geno's thighs. If he was fine enough for practice, he was fine enough to give a blowjob no matter what Geno's misplaced concern said, but a sharp, hard pounding on the front door startled him badly enough that he tipped over and landed on his ass on the hardwood. Geno swore, knocking his head against the back of the couch. 

"Sanja," Geno said apologetically. He offered his hand and hauled Sid back up onto the couch. His lips were pink and damp, his hair standing on end from where Sid's hands hand been running through it. Sid cupped his dick and sighed. He wasn't getting laid tonight. Geno's eyes narrowed in on Sid's hand and he swore again. "I'm going to poison him."

"You can't play hockey if you're in jail," Sid said. Geno snorted and reached for his cane. It was dark, polished wood that had needed to be custom made to accommodate Geno's height. Sid had the feeling that, by the end of the night, there would be at least one crude drawing etched into the smooth surface. Another round of sharp, loud knocking came from the front hall. Sid kissed Geno again, reveling in the easy way Geno leaned into him, before steeling himself and marching for the front door. 

"Hello, favorite Penguin," Ovechkin said brightly when Sid opened it. He was still in his suit, his hair drying into puffy spikes. Sid stepped aside to let him in, shivering at the burst of cold air that followed him. It was almost April, but winter was hanging on, one last snowfall already coming down. Sid wasn't fast enough to dodge the arms that wrapped around him. "You look good. Not as good as me, but you'll do. You coming out with us? Zhenya will whine if you not there."

"God, no." Sid wiggled free of Ovechkin's too tight hug. A headache was building up at the base of his skull, brought on by the too loud, too fast words. All the calm of the night vanished instantly. Ovechkin had that effect on things. 

"I see you so little," Ovechkin said, trailing after Sid like a puppy. Sid could hear the steady click of Geno's cane overhead as he changed. "Is almost like you don't want to be seen at all."

"Got it in one," Sid said dryly. Ovechkin gave him a gap-toothed grin and flopped down into the armchair. "Don't let him get too drunk. He just got the cane and if he falls I'm sending the team out to hurt you."

"I take good care of him," Ovechkin said. "Bring him home at respectable time and everything."

"Nothing about you is respectable," Sid said. He glowered at Ovechkin's shoes, which were perched on the edge of the coffee table. Ovechkin placed a hand over his heart and made a soft, pathetic whimpering sound. Sid bit back his own smile. Ovechkin wasn't too bad. In small doses, anyway. They both looked up at the sound of Geno coming down the stairs. 

"No one dead," Geno said when he reached them. He ruffled a hand over Sid's hair affectionately. He smelled like cologne and the jeans he'd put on were tight, a fashionably large distressed pattern on his right side showing a stripe of his thigh. Sid itched to touch it, to remind Geno that he wasn't supposed to pick anyone up, but he managed to keep his hands to himself. "So proud for you."

"You wound me, Zhenya," Ovechkin said, pushing himself up to his feet. Sid didn't miss the way Ovechkin's eyes did a quick check over Geno's knee, over the hand on his cane. No matter how obnoxious he was, he cared about Geno and would keep an eye on him. "Sidney and I are best friends."

"Have fun," Sid said, shoving Geno gently toward the door. "If you bring him back here, I'll lock you both out." Ovechkin said something in Russian and Geno laughed. Sid didn't want to know. 

He locked the door behind them and went back to the living room to clean up the dinner dishes. He'd held down a solid meal without problems. It was getting easier to eat, easier to feel the weight of hunger settling back in when it had been absent for so long. He'd told Dr. Keller about the lingering symptoms, had been honest even though he wanted to lie through his teeth, but they were still going forward with integrating him back. Sid wouldn't hold his breath, but he might be back in time for playoffs. He could have a chance. 

The house was dark and quiet. It felt a little like being at Mario's when everything had first started. Sid turned the TV back on for sound, the low rumble of the news not really enough to make up for the absence of Geno's everyday noises. Sid had gotten used to him being there, had gotten used to his steady presence, and it was weird without him. 

Sid did the dishes by hand to pass the time. He didn't know how long Geno would be out, and the longer the quiet stretched, the more anxious Sid felt. When he'd put the dishes away, he paced the kitchen. The maids had come by the day before, but Sid wished they hadn't. He needed something to do with his hands, something to keep him busy. Eventually, he climbed the stairs and pulled all of their clothes from the dresser, dumping them across the bed that he and Geno had recently started sleeping in. The act of folding and reorganizing them was soothing. 

"Sleep," Sid out loud when he'd put everything back where it belonged. It felt like his voice echoed back at him forever. "Go to sleep."

He turned down the covers on his side of the bed and went back to the door. He'd taken to waiting for Geno to fall asleep and sneaking out of bed to go through his nightly routine. He didn't think Geno would make fun of him, but it was private, his own ritual that didn't need to be exposed. He'd had to refigure it out when they'd changed rooms, wasting half a night testing different strides and patterns, but he'd found something that worked well. 

He walked from the door to the edge of the mattress and back again, counting his steps under his breath. The TV was still on downstairs, but it was too late to go down and turn it off. Geno would get it when he came in. The noise was distracting, a low buzz like a fly in his ear. Sid paced the bedroom, eyes on the floor. Everything was too big without Geno and the usual number of steps left him feeling itchy and wrong. He started over and over again from the doorway, touching the doorknob on each pass, but the numbers weren't _right_ no matter how high he went. 

_You have to find it,_ Sid thought, his fingertips skidding over the doorknob. His head throbbed and his eyelids were so, so heavy, but he couldn't lay down until things were right. _If you don't, Geno will never come home again. He'll die, and it'll be your fault. Find it, find it, find it._

Panic welled up in Sid's chest, his heart racing under his sternum. He jogged down the stairs, nearly tumbling over the landing, barely managing to catch himself on the railing at the last moment. He placed a hand on the couch, the smooth leather cold and sticky, and took a step. 

"One," he said out loud. Counting in his head wasn't working. The longer he took, the more danger Geno was in. "Two." 

Two hundred and twelve steps from couch to bed. Two hundred and fifty-six from couch to bed with two trips around the walls of the bedroom. Two hundred and ninety-five from the front door to the couch to the bed. Three hundred and thirty-four from the snow covered driveway to the couch to the bed. 

Sid's knees ached from climbing the steps over and over again and he felt lightheaded and his bare feet were frozen, chapped and red as he crossed from snow to heat and back into snow again, but he couldn't stop. He _couldn't stop._

Five hundred and nineteen steps from the mailbox to the couch to the bed. Five hundred and thirty-two from road to couch to bed. 

Snow had gathered up in the front hall from the door being open for so long, but Sid walked through it. Stepping over it would screw everything up even more. He couldn't breathe right. His chest ached and if he looked closely enough at the floor he could see blood trails on it. Jesus fuck, he was running out of time. 

He stumbled going up the stairs, knee cracking on the wood as he fell. Pain spiked up his thigh into his gut and when he flexed his leg it twinged, but he would have kept walking if he'd broken a femur. Geno needed him to. Oh, god _Geno_. Sid limped down the stairs and back outside, his feet so numb he barely felt the scratch of gravel and rocks anymore. 

Five hundred and forty-six steps from the other side of the road to couch to bed. Sid touched the mattress, angry, helpless tears blurring his vision. He wanted to stop so badly, needed to rest, but Geno-

Sid smacked into the wall when he tried to leave the bedroom. He wiped an arm over his eyes, furious and so fucking _scared_. Something grabbed him around the shoulders and Sid lashed out. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he'd screwed up and Geno was dead and he was going to die next and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Sid."

A great, wracking sob ripped itself from Sid's throat. He struggled blindly against whatever was holding him, his fists lashing out hard enough to make his knuckles sting. Something wrapped around his chest, locking his arms to his sides. Sid threw a wild headbutt, which left his gasping and nauseous, the world going fuzzy and black around the edges. Someone was saying his name, but everything sounded like it was filtered through cotton, muffled and so far away that it didn't matter. 

" _Sid_." 

His whole body failed as the thing wrapped around him shook him. His legs, so weak from walking so far, finally gave out and he fell to the floor, bile already clogging his throat. He vomited, what he'd managed to get down at dinner rising back up and out. A hand pushed his hair back from his face, and Sid jerked. 

"Sid. Look at me." 

Sid cracked open one eye, sucking in uneven, gasping breaths, and saw Geno half crouched in front of him, his face wet and his lip bleeding. Tears built up in Sid's eyes, warping Geno's face until it was nothing more than a blur. 

"You're _dead_ ," Sid whispered. Talking hurt, everything hurt, but he was seeing ghosts. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I tried."

"Not dead," Geno said. "Right here. See?" He carefully took one of Sid's hands and placed it on his cheek. The skin was smooth and warm, the prickle of stubble against his palm familiar, but he'd failed and this was an illusion and it would break at any second. "Right here, Sid. Everyone okay."

"I couldn't get the number right," Sid said, fingers curling around Geno's cheek. He touched the slick middle of Geno's lip and his fingers came back red. Ghosts didn't bleed. "I couldn't- I tried so hard, but-"

"Is okay," Geno said, his voice thick and muted. His throat worked as he swallowed. "We get you clean now, okay?" He grimaced as he stood, his leg buckling a bit as he straightened up. "Come on. Bathroom."

Sid let Geno take him into the bathroom, let him strip his disgusting shirt off, let him push him down onto the shower bench. Everything felt distant and disconnected, his body present but his mind closing down slowly. He held still as Geno wiped his face off with a wet washcloth. Geno rinsed it out in the sink and told Sid to hold it to his face. It was cool against his burning eyes and it blocked out the heartbreaking sight of Geno silently crying. 

"Everything okay," Geno repeated, over and over as he wiped Sid down. 

He lifted one of Sid's feet up, hands gentle as he picked bits of gravel from Sid's skin and wiped away blood. As his skin thawed out, the pain began to build. Walking would hurt for the next few days. When he finished, Geno kissed Sid's temple, lingering there for a long moment.

"Stay," Geno said, like Sid was a skittish dog. "I be back quick. Promise."

Sid watched him limp into the bedroom, watched him crouch to clean the vomit from the floor. As the panic subsided, humiliation rushed to take its place. There was something wrong with him. There was something so very, very wrong with him and it was one more thing hockey couldn't fix. Geno grimaced as he stood back up, filthy towel bunched in his hand, and shook out his leg. Sid couldn't remember if he'd gone for it while he'd struggled, if he'd gotten a good blow to the still healing tissue. Geno's cane was on the floor near the door, discarded. 

"Up," Geno said after he'd thrown the towel in the hamper. "We lay down. Rest." 

Sid followed meekly. Geno shouldn't want to be around him, shouldn't still want to share a bed with him. Sid was crazy. His brain was broken in so many ways and he was a danger to other people. Geno turned down the covers and Sid crawled in, curling up on his side and wrapping his arms around his chest. He was shaking, his teeth chattering. Hypothermia in reverse. He tucked his unsteady hands under his arms and focused on the tingling as blood worked its way back to his fingertips. 

Geno stepped out of the room but left the door open. Sid could hear his voice from the hallway, soft and low and too quiet to make out the words. Maybe he was calling the police. Maybe he was calling a psychiatric ward. Sid would get locked into a small place and Geno would be safe and everyone would eventually forget him. The bed shook when Geno crawled in behind him. Sid stiffened as Geno carefully fitted himself to Sid's back, one arm curling around Sid's waist. It was heavy, but if Sid moved it away, he was pretty sure Geno would let him. Sid didn't move. 

"Mario come in the morning," Geno said. Sid dug his nails into his ribs, but his t-shirt blunted the pressure. His humiliation wasn't over. "He the smart one. Know what to do."

"I don't want him to know," Sid whispered. Everything felt so loud, the familiar darkness forcing his other senses to go haywire. "Please, Geno. I don't-"

"Need help, Sid," Geno said, quiet but firm. His breath was warm on the back of Sid's neck, his body like a block from the rest of the world. Sid shook his head. Geno rubbed a soothing circle low on Sid's stomach. "Is okay to get help. Like training for inside head, yes?"

"If people find out-" Sid swallowed. Sickness swirled in his stomach. If people found out, the ridicule would intensify. People would have more reason to hate him. He wouldn't be Sidney Crosby, world's best hockey player anymore. He'd be Sidney Crosby, crackpot. Sidney Crosby, broken. "I can do this on my own."

"How long you do on your own already?" Geno asked. Sid stared at the wall. He wanted to count the fine cracks in the paint, but it would be proving Geno right. He swallowed down the urge and pushed back into Geno's arms. They were warm and uncomplicated. 

"I-" Sid licked his dry lips. "I think it started when I was in Shattucks." He had started building his routines there to stave off the homesickness. If he got out of the right side of his bed every morning, Taylor would get to school safe. If he used just the right amount of mouthwash, his father wouldn't crash his car. 

"Long time to deal with alone," Geno said. He kissed Sid's shoulder, carefully tucking his knees in behind Sid's. "You don't need to. We find doctor for head together. Anyone bother you, I break them." Sid laughed weakly, imagining Geno hobbling after someone, waving his cane at them. 

"You should leave me," Sid said when the thread of humor faded away. He ran careful fingers over the back of Geno's hand, tracing the swell of knuckles and the dip of wrist. Geno was strong and good, and Sid would rather give him up now than hurt him later. "I should leave you to keep you safe but I…" Sid threaded his fingers between Geno's and squeezed until their bones ground together. He couldn't find the words. 

"I love you," Geno said quietly. His lips brushed the top of Sid's spine as he spoke and Sid's chest went tight. It felt almost like panic, that moment right before slamming into the ice at full speed. "You want me to leave, I leave. You scared because of head, because I see you when you not best, I stay."

"Geno-" Sid closed his eyes. He was so, so tired. "I love you, too, you know? I don't want to hurt you."

"You not that strong," Geno said. He lifted their joined hands and kissed Sid's knuckles. "We team, Sid "

"Yeah, G. We're team."

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me at my [tumblr](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com), or my lovely mixer at their [tumblr](http://bigneonglitter.tumblr.com).


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